


i'll see the future with you.

by arklie



Category: Naruto
Genre: Canonical Character Death, canon-typical eye fuckery, no beta we die like men, u know what the fuck is going on!!!!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24526519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arklie/pseuds/arklie
Summary: He never thought he'd watch both his friends die.“Boss?” Obito inhales, and it’s so difficult to hide the quiver in his breath. “You good?”“No.”
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi & Uchiha Obito, Hoshigaki Kisame & Uchiha Obito, u can see this as kisaobi bc im gay
Comments: 1
Kudos: 51





	i'll see the future with you.

**Author's Note:**

> written june 3rd
> 
> i had a burnout so i gave myself a break mnkjhdgjsd here i go again!!!!!!!
> 
> watched pain invasion again n jsut died

Obito is no better than a puddle on the bean bag chair. His head is thrown back as he grits his teeth with the throbbing headache threatening to split his head in two. Wouldn’t be the first time—neither the headache or his skull splitting. It doesn’t mean he’d like to experience either of them again in his life, thank you _very_ much.

Thank gods for Kisame, because Zetsu only gives a fuck about keeping him alive in the loosest sense of the word. He could lose his head and Dokuzetsu would just glue it back to his body with Jozetsu cells and leave him in a ditch to heal by himself. A little headache wouldn’t even make one half of the Zetsu turn his head.

Maskless, he feels both so exposed and so _cold_. Obito presses his palm to the empty socket of his eye where it aches the most, stabbing thousands of godforsaken needles to his skull, spreading to his nerves until his limbs are reduced to useless sticks on his body. With a loud groan he presses himself further into the chair, feet pushing against the floor. 

“Take it easy, boss,” says Kisame, as he sits cross-legged on the floor near his personal bubble of a bean bag. There’s a quiet clink of a tray against the floor, and a strong smell of tea. “You need to move to the bed?”

 _“No,"_ he snaps, the headache and phantom pain mixed together in a bloody cocktail getting the better out of him. Through gritted teeth, he forces his remaining eye to squint open. “It’s never been this bad.”

He sees the blurry shape of Kisame, blue and black with his head tilting. He’s not asking what’s never been so bad, because he might be the only person who knows anything about Obito beyond his plan to rewrite the world. Even if it was something as small as the occasional pain he would feel where his body had been crushed and replaced with something inhuman.

“Never?”

He croaks. “No.”

It _has_ hurt this bad, one time in the past. When his empty vision blurred before it opened to a vivid broadcast of the terrible crackle of lightning ringing in his ears, of a hand not his own carving a devastating path through flesh and ribs, of a face of his very first and best friend crumpling lifeless to the ground.

The pain had been overwhelmed by blind rage, then, drowned by the blood around his ankles and the strong stench of corpses maimed beyond recognition under the cold, uncaring light of the moon.

Kisame doesn’t need to know, so he doesn’t tell.

Nonetheless, the ever-loyal man hovers a warm cup of tea near his free hand, a silent offer that he could respond, similarly, without a word.

One that Obito would gladly take, if he didn’t see himself trapped in ruins so suddenly.

The claustrophobic sight freezes him in place, flashing an afterimage of the boulder crushing his bones, eye wide as he stares at both the empty ceiling and Yahiko’s corpse staring down to his eye—one that isn’t _there_ in his empty socket. The puppeted body twirls a nail between its fingers, battered from the destroyed house under his feet, aiming it between his eyes.

When he tries to move, to _dodge_ , he does so without any hinders, and he realizes that it wasn’t his body who was squeezed between the heavy debris. He stiffens further as Kisame attempts a grip around his arm. To his gratitude, the bigger man pulls away.

It doesn’t make the vision any easier to watch.

“Boss?” Obito inhales, and it’s so difficult to hide the quiver in his breath. “You good?”

“No,” he whispers—not to Kisame, not as an answer, rather a helpless plea as realization dawns, closing in to his ribs until he can’t breathe. _“No.”_

Which is ridiculous, because _Madara_ wouldn't plead.

Kisame seems to notice just how out of character ‘Madara’ is being, all wide and open with his vulnerability as he stares with _fright_ in his eye. He has the grace to not mention it, washed away in his visible worry.

Madara doesn’t _fear_.

Obito does. Because he knows how this is going to end. He knows just how much of an idiot Kakashi had grown to be in his time watching him from the shadows. He knows what their mangekyo—his _gift_ —is capable of doing, of the toll and damage _Obito_ so easily avoids because of the cells of a rotten god his body had been forced with.

Kakashi is all but human, and Obito can only watch as an unfamiliar Konoha-nin sprints through the rubble, chased by a rocket Pain’s Asura Path had launched towards him.

Then—

The pain peaks, forcing a strangled cry out of his ragged throat. His eye squeezes shut with the jolting ache, back arching and head thrown back. Then, he feels a part of chakra flare fades away—one that Obito never even noticed was _there_ , because it had grown _so damn familiar to his own_ —leaving him alone, with yet another missing piece. Kisame’s concerned words are all but blurred into incoherent mumbles of a drowning man at the bottom of the sea.

The vision blurs and dies out, leaving a race of a thousand ants until it too fades. He looks at the blank in the air with a gaping mouth, panting, shaking from the steadily numbing pain. When he lifts his hand from his face, he expects blood on his quivering palm—instead, clean. And there’s a new hollow forming in his chest.

Kakashi is dead.

It doesn’t matter, does it? He’d accepted since long that there’s no hope in this pitch-black hell, that no one would be able to achieve true happiness no matter what. It doesn’t _matter_ , because he’ll fix this, he’s working on it, and he’ll bring forth a world where nothing ever goes wrong, and neither Kakashi or Rin had to be hurt protecting a village that only ever saw them as weapons for war.

They’ll be okay, all three of them. Kisame will be there, too. Because for all his loyalty, he deserves so much better than layers of lies in a broken system he had knelt for.

That’s the kind of world he’s after. That’s the kind of world he’ll create. A plan he has been struggling to achieve ever since he was made to _see_ , and attacking Konoha wasn’t a part of it. Not like this.

So, now there’s a _traitor_ to be taken care of.

Whatever bloody grief had splattered over his disfigured face is all but gone, replaced by the face of the heartless Madara the world had come to fear.

“Kisame,” he calls, voice steady and ice-cold. “Where’s Pain?”

**Author's Note:**

> things im constantly thinking about:
> 
> 1\. pain konan and obito have bean bags in their meeting room. theyre so evil and so very comfy  
> 2\. how much of kakashi's life can/did obito see with his gifted eye???? or like. how the whole vision-sharing thing works really  
> 3\. kisame being the only akatsuki member obito trusts enough to reveal his face to. how much does he know abt obito? does he even know his real name?


End file.
